


Untitled Sherlock/PR Fusion Fic

by fortheloveoflestrade



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-25 16:47:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19749760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fortheloveoflestrade/pseuds/fortheloveoflestrade
Summary: Basically, I started this ages ago and haven't touched it in nearly as long. I know I'll never finish it, but I do like what I had so far.First chapter is some of my notes on the characters/universe, second will be the actual story.A lot of the science and some of the dialogue were both ripped straight from the PR film and film novelization. I own neither.This is unfinished and will not be continued.





	1. Notes

John Watson - Raleigh Becket  
Harry Watson - Yancy Becket  
Greg Lestrade - Tendo Choi  
Mycroft Holmes ~ Stacker Pentecost

Sherlock Holmes ~ Mako Mori/Newt Giezler  
Molly Hooper ~ Hermann Gottlieb  
Mike Stamford - extra scientist?

Misc. Pilots - Irene Adler, Jim Moriarty, Sally Donovan, Janine ?, Mary Morstan, Sebastian Moran  
Misc. Crew - Martha Hudson, Philip Anderson, Scott Donovan

\--

jaegernamegenerator.tumblr.com

Atlas Zeta - Mark III (Harry/John, John/Sherlock)  
Sable Tempest - Mark IV (Sally/Janine)  
Rogue Striker- Mark V (Jim/Irene, Jim/Sebastian)  
Crimson Sentinel- Mark V (Mary/Sebastian later)

\--

Watson - English/American  
Holmes - English  
Lestrade - French/English  
Donovan - Australian  
Moriarty - Irish  
Adler - American/Russian  
Hudson - English  
Anderson - German/English  
Hooper - South African/English  
Morstan - American  
Janine - Irish  
Moran - American

\--

Harry and John Watson were born (November 1995 and December 1998 respectively) in America to an American mother and an English father. They moved to London in 2003.

The first Kaiju breached San Francisco in August of 2013.

They enlist in the Jaeger program in 2016.

Atlas Zeta is launched in August of 2017, and its first mission takes place in October.

Harriet Watson dies in February of 2020.

John Watson rejoins the Jaeger efforts in June of 2025.


	2. Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reminder, this is incomplete and will not be finished. Knowing that, enjoy!

**04:00  
11 February 2020**

John Watson stirs. His body had learned to rise early during training, and it never seemed to fade. Harriet Watson, however, typically slept like the dead until something loud and obnoxious was blaring in her ears.

John lets himself lie back on his bunk, hands tucked up underneath his head. Although he’s awake, it doesn’t mean he’s ready to get up. Besides, the mess hall would be mostly empty for another half-hour at least, and he didn’t feel like eating breakfast by himself.

Surprisingly, John hears a groan from the bunk beside him. “Why d’you have to think so loudly, Johnny?” his sister mutters, arm thrown over her face as if to block him out.

John opens his mouth to reply with something snarky, but just then the alarm sounds.

Both Watsons are instantly awake, alert, and moving.

John pulls on a shirt while Harry searches for her left shoe.

“Ready for another one, Johnny boy?”

“I’m always ready,” John shoots back with a grin.

“Don’t get cocky, now,” she warns, but they both know that between the two of them, Harry’s the one that should heed her own advice.

She cinches the lace tight on her shoe and stands tall. Even with her three years over him, she and John are the same height. Harry grins.

“Let’s go rough up a Kaiju,” she says, opening up the door.

\--

John is secured into the left side of the Conn-Pod, and Harry on the right. Greg Lestrade’s voice floods over the intercom.

“Watsons, good morning,” he says. 

Harry mutters, “Barely.”

John hits a button on the controls, “Greg! How’s Sarah?”

“She’s positively glowing,” he boasts, “Only called me an arse twice this morning.” There’s a pause before he adds stiffly, “Marshal Holmes, on deck.”

“Engage drop, Mr. Lestrade,” the new voice says, all business.

“Engaging drop, sir,” he responds, and John can almost hear his back straighten.

All around them, gears and mechanisms grind into position.

“Ready to drop,” Harry tells the controls.

There’s a hiss of release from outside and then the Conn-Pod is moving, down toward the rest of Atlas Zeta.

As they’re falling, Harry lets out a whoop and John laughs.

They settle atop the Jaeger, and the computer tells them, “ _Pilot-to-pilot connection protocol sequence_.”

There are an infinite amount of sounds all happening around them, but John focuses on himself and Harry, in the Conn-Pod. He knew the Drift was coming, and wanted one last moment to himself.

Because once they’re in the Drift, there is nothing between his mind and Harry’s—absolutely nothing.

“Atlas Zeta, ready and aligned, sir,” Harry comms.

“Rangers,” the posh British accent says, “this is Marshal Mycroft Holmes. Prepare for neural handshake.”

“Neural handshake in fifteen, fourteen…” Lestrade counts them down.

Harry turns to John. “You alright, Johnny boy?” she teases.

“‘Course,” he scoffs. “Let’s get on with it.”

“…four, three, two, one,” Lestrade continues, getting quieter.

“ _Neural handshake initiated_ ,” the computer finishes.

\--

_The Drift is silence._

_Harry, John, and their mother and father all sit around the dinner table, a tense silence surrounding them. Everyone’s expressions are calculatedly neutral. Harriet pushes the food around her plate while John chews the same bite over and over again._

_Then suddenly they are on the beach, Harriet and John several years younger, their father not reeking of bourbon, their mother lit up with a smile. There is laughter, the ocean breeze, and love._

_There are flashes. John getting in fights at school. Harriet sneaking out of the house. Their father, sitting in his chair, the television on and him fallen into a drunken stupor. Their mother quietly crying in the bathroom, icing a bruise on her wrist._

_They snap back together, John and Harry, to their first run in the simulator, blood thrumming and hearts racing._

_Silence._

\--

Harry’s the first one out. “Right hemisphere, calibrating.”

“Left hemisphere, calibrating,” John adds.

Both of them raise their arms, raising AZ’s arms, and then lock into attention.

“Watsons, your orders are to hold the Miracle Mile off Anchorage, do you copy?”

John responds, “Copy.”

“There’s still a civilian vessel out there, sir. We should get it to safety,” Harry interjects.

“Ms. Watson, your priority is to protect the city of two billion people at your back—you will not jeopardize that for a vessel that holds ten.”

Harry sighs, “Yes, sir.” She looks to John.

“I know what you’re thinking,” John says.

“Yeah, you do, but I know you’re thinking the same thing,” she smirks.

_Holmes is going to kick our arses_ , John doesn’t say.

Harriet’s smirk turns into a grin. “Let’s go fishing.”

\--  
\--  
\--

They get off the helicopter and walk to where a young man is waiting, and he immediately hands Mycroft an umbrella. John smirks briefly to himself. _Nothing’s changed_ , he thinks for a moment. 

“Capt. Watson, this is my brother, Sherlock Holmes, one of our main Jaeger engineers and Kaiju scientists. He personally overviewed the Mach 3 restoration project.”

Another Holmes. Upon second glance, John begins to see the facial similarities, infinitesimal as they seem.

Sherlock looks John up and down, a very obvious appraisal. He turns slightly toward Mycroft. “I imagined him differently,” he states simply.

John chuckles, and Sherlock turns back to him. “Better or worse?” he asks, letting the slight British lilt, the one that came and went as it pleased, slip noticeably back into his voice.

Sherlock fixes him with a look, and then shrugs. He turns his back on John and Mycroft. “Is he always like that?” John asks.

“Unfortunately,” Mycroft replies.

They follow after, headed into the Shatterdome. They walk into a large freight elevator, surrounded by pieces of Kaiju anatomy floating in large glass containers. Supervising them is a small, mousey woman in a lab coat. 

“Ah, Molly!” Sherlock says. “New specimens from Sydney, lovely.”

“As fresh as they come,” she replies, with a small, nervous smile.

“Dr. Hooper, meet John Watson, our new Mach 3 pilot,” the elder Holmes interjects.

John offers a hand, she takes it carefully. “Lovely to meet you,” she says.

“And you,” he replies, then returns to his position between the Holmeses. 

Sherlock seems rapt with the Kaiju specimens, and rolls up his sleeves as he studies them. John’s eye is immediately caught with the myriad of colors spreading up Sherlock’s arms, and upon closer examination he determines the tattoos are of different Kaiju, some of which he recognizes, and other eclectic scientific symbols like chemical formulas, as well as a distinct honeycomb pattern that starts at his left elbow and disappears up his sleeve.

“Is that Yamarashi?” John asks, indicating the beast on his left forearm.

Sherlock turns away from the Kaiju parts suddenly. He regards John, “Good eye.”

“My sister and I took him down in 2017.”

“Ah, yes, that you did. I read the file. An impressive kill, though not much was left of the beast to study,” he says, with a slight disdain.

“Please excuse my brother,” Mycroft interrupts, “He has a distinct fascination with the Kaiju.”

“And you don’t, brother mine? Aren’t you at all interested in where they come from, why they are here?”

“Mostly I thought we were trying to keep people safe,” John answers.

Sherlock hesitates, clears his throat. “Yes, well, of course there’s that,” he says.

\--

The first familiar face he encounters, after the elder Holmes, is Greg Lestrade.

On top of Greg’s shoulders is a boy, about four, with brown hair and grey eyes, and a too-big hat with a Ranger emblem. When Lestrade turns and recognizes John, he grins.

“John Watson, as I live and breathe!” he calls out, crossing over to him. He lifts the boy over his head and sets him down on the floor. “Damn, it’s good to see you.”

They hug, clapping each other on the back. “You too, Greg. How are you?” he asks, as they step back.  
“I’m alright, yeah,” he says, looking down at the boy, “busy as ever.”

“I was sorry to hear about Sarah,” John tells him.

Greg nods somberly. “I miss her everyday,” he admits, ruffling the boy’s hair.

John drops to a knee in front of the child. “What’s your name?” he asks softly.

The boy meets his eyes and smiles, “Pete.”

“After Sarah’s father,” Greg adds.

“Nice to meet you, Pete,” John says, holding out a hand. Pete shakes it and quickly retreats to his father. “I like your hat.”

The boy giggles and hides his face against Greg’s leg. “Thank you,” he murmurs.

John looks back up to Lestrade. “He looks like her.”

Greg gives a small nod, “That he does.”

Greg and Pete say goodbye to him and Sherlock, promise to catch up more later, and then the tour continues.

Sherlock nods his head in the direction of two other Jaegers. “Those are the Mark V’s, Crimson Sentinel and Rogue Striker.” 

John’s gaze follows. He catches four pilots walking toward them, two men and two women. “And who are they?”

He answers, deliberately not looking at the group, “The blonde is Mary Morstan, she’s one of the candidates for tomorrow’s trials. The other three are the pilots of Striker—Jim Moriarty, Irene Adler, and Sebastian Moran.”

“Three of them?”

“Yes.” He does not elaborate.

The Rangers approach, sizing John up as they do.

“So, you’re the infamous John Watson,” says one man. Sebastian, he thinks.

“Infamous?” John asks.

The blonde offers her hand. “Hello,” she says politely, “I’m Mary. I’m one of the candidates to be your new co-pilot.”

John nods, shakes her hand. She seems the nicest of the four, also the least intimidating. He doesn’t know how that speaks to their compatibility.

Mary then turns to Sherlock. “Are you on the list for tomorrow, Sherlock? With a simulator score like yours…”

“That remains to be seen,” he replies.

“What, your brother still tightening the leash?” the other woman, Irene, teases. John instantly does not like her.

Mary smiles at Sherlock, ignores Irene’s comment. “Well, I hope you get your chance.”

“I’ll make sure he does,” John says, back straight.

This surprises all of them. All except Jim Moriarty, the only one of the five who has not contributed to the interaction thus far—other than staring John and Sherlock down like they were about to burst into flames. 

It irks John, the look Jim gives Sherlock. He doesn’t quite know why. He can tell Sherlock is actively trying to ignore Jim’s attentions. 

“Well, Watson’s still got a lot of ground to cover, so we’ll have to be going,” Sherlock interjects, quickly turning away from the group.

John says goodbye to Mary and trots off to catch up with Sherlock. 

“What is their problem?” John asks. 

Sherlock clicks his teeth. “Jim thinks he’s God’s gift to Earth, and the other two seem to believe him,” Sherlock scoffs. “My brother was about to move him before we were decommissioned. Now, there aren’t enough of us to spare him.”

John nods solemnly, fighting to keep up with Sherlock’s long strides. “Over here is the Sable Tempest, which just came over from Sydney. Piloted by Sally Donovan and Janine—”

“What happened to Scott Donovan?” John asked. “I rode with the Donovans before, about six years ago.” 

Sherlock huffed at John’s interruption, but continued. “Scott was badly injured on a run four years ago and was no longer able to pilot. He’s one of our brighter engineers on the floor, nowadays.”

Sally Donovan and her co-pilot came into view, still in their suits. Sally turned and caught eyes on John and Sherlock. 

“Ay, freak!” she yells at them. At first, John thinks she means him, but Sherlock’s low growl tells him otherwise. They approach regardless.

“This is John Watson, he’ll be piloting Atlas Zeta for us,” Sherlock introduces coolly. 

“We’ve met,” John says to Sally, “My sister and I rode with you and your cousin about six years ago.”

She nods. “Yeah, a three team drop in Manila. Good to have you back, mate. Sorry to hear about your sister.”

“Thank you. And I just heard about Scott, how’s he doing?” 

“He’s fine, considering. Honestly, I think he was meant to work on the Jaegers instead of ride ‘em this whole time. You’ll probably catch him tinkering on AZ when Sherlock’s not looking,” she laughs.

Sherlock rolls his eyes. “Apparently he doesn’t like me.”

“Oh, he likes you,” the other woman interjects, “you just make him a bit nervous is all.” She turns to John. “Janine,” she says, offering her hand.

He takes it. “John. Heard you just came in from Sydney?”

Sally nods. “Lucky we didn’t leave earlier, we caught a Kaiju breaking through the wall just as our Shatterdome was shut down for good.”

“Yes, lucky,” a voice booms in behind them. Marshal Holmes joins them on the floor. “That Kaiju broke through the wall in a matter of minutes. If you hadn’t been there, who knows what would’ve happened.”

“That’s what we do, sir,” Janine says politely.

“Pardon me, Rangers, but I must steal Mr. Holmes and Mr. Watson from you. I hope to see you at the trials tomorrow morning?”

“Of course, sir,” Sally replies, and they recede quickly.

\--  
\--  
\--

John gets a minute alone with Greg—and Pete—later that day.

“So, what’s up with the Strikers?” he asks him.

Greg gives him a look. “I assume you’ve all met, then?”

“Yeah, me and Sherlock saw them and Mary earlier today.”

“Well,” he starts, and then gives a sigh, “they’re sort of an…item, I guess you could call it.”

“Which ones?”

“Well, all three of them. At least, that’s the rumor, and there’s no evidence against it.”

John contemplates this. “What about Mary? Is she…?”

Greg shakes his head. “No, she’s just a friend, I think. Her and Seb went to school together when they were younger.”

John contemplates the new information. “But then how do they pilot? That machine’s not built for three, not like that Mach 4 out of China.”

“Right,” Greg nods, “they rotate out. Sometimes it’s Jim and Seb, sometimes it’s Jim and Irene.”

“I thought the whole idea with Drift campatibility is that it’s just two?”

“Well, Jim is the most left-brain of the group, while Irene and Seb always ride right-hemisphere. They alternate out. Once, when Jim was out with a bad concussion, Seb rode left-hemisphere. They were great, but Jim really holds the reigns for them.”

\--  
\--  
\--

The trials flew by in a blaze of sparring. John swept through the candidates, one by one, until the list was nearly empty.

But very time he looked up at the Marshal and Sherlock, he could see this look in Sherlock’s eye, and a slight lift in his upper lip. John couldn’t decide is he was curious, amused, or annoyed.

And then there was Mary. She was good. Excellent, in fact. The best of the bunch, if John had a say. But Sherlock still had that look.

So when the match ends, John winning 4-2, he shakes Mary’s hand and then walks to the edge of the mat. “What’s all this about?” he asks.

“Pardon?” the Marshal responds.

John points at Sherlock. “You. I thought you selected these candidates.”

Sherlock’s gaze narrows. “I did, yes, based on your neural profile and combat history.”

“Then why are you being so critical of them?”

“It’s not them,” Sherlock says, “it’s you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Honestly, you could have taken all of them two moves sooner.”

“Really, you think so?”

“Oh, I know so,” he responds, defiant.

“Then why don’t we let you have a try, eh? Change it up a bit?” The room buzzes as the small crowd behind John begins to whisper.

Sherlock smirks, “Fine.”

“Absolutely not,” Mycroft interjects. “Stick to the candidates with Drift-compatibility.”

Sherlock turns, “Mycroft, you know I was supposed to be on that list—”

John straightens. “Come on, sir, don’t think your brother can cut in in the ring?”

Marshal Holmes fixes John with a look of extreme distaste. “Careful where you tread, Watson.”

Sherlock steps forward anyway. “I’m in.”

Mycroft sighs. “Bugger all,” he murmurs, then concedes, “fine.”

Sherlock smirks, and meets John at the edge of the mat. “This should be interesting,” John says quietly, while Sherlock is unbuttoning his shirt. 

“Obviously,” Sherlock replies, as John steps back into the center of the mat.

\--

Everything slows down as John and Sherlock circle, tension thrumming across the mat between them. 

In only his undershirt, John can tell Sherlock’s tattoos travel far beyond his arms, continuing under the fabric onto his chest and back. His arms in full view, John can see the muscle that hides beneath the ink. Sherlock is fairly fit, while a little on the thin side, John can tell there’s power hidden there.

“Alright, then,” John says, holding his position and dropping into a defensive stance. “Don’t hold anything back.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Sherlock teases, flexing his fingers around the bo staff. 

For a moment, they are completely still, waiting, and then Sherlock lunges. John quickly side-steps, and as Sherlock loses balance he strikes the staff down, stopping just short of the back of Sherlock’s head. “One-zero,” John says.

Sherlock huffs as he pushes himself back to his feet, spinning on his heel and going for John. He gets the staff up against John’s jugular, and taps him. “One-one,” he adds smugly.

John quickly strikes toward Sherlock’s legs, which in his maneuver to avoid drops Sherlock down on one knee, and John gets him in the side. “Two-one. Concentrate,” he warns.

They both take a step back, a few steps around, and then start back in at each other again. Blow for blow, they match up; Sherlock blocks when John delivers, John ducks when Sherlock swings. As they fight, Sherlock silently roars. He is quick, and he is light on his feet. He gets in another hit. Two-two.

The fight closes inwards, the blows growing closer and closer together. John goes in for a hit when Sherlock ducks, lifting John up and over his shoulder to tumble back down to the mat. He turns, lowers his staff to John’s head, “Three-two.”

The crowd, having gone silent with rapt attention to the sparring, is suddenly buzzing again. John smiles. “Having fun?” he whispers.

“Quite.” 

Marshal Holmes’ voice rises over the murmur. “More control, Sherlock.” 

With a sigh, Sherlock drops back, letting John pick himself up, and then launches in again. The staffs crack with each contact, loud in a room that falls quiet again. Hits are deflected from both parties, and for a moment it seems that they will be stuck there in the interim, no one getting in another hit.

But then it happens. Sherlock uses John’s weight against him, rolling them and pinning John’s leg. The crowd roars and the Marshal shouts, “That’s enough!”

Sherlock releases John, immediately standing. He offers John his hand.

“I’ve seen what I needed to see,” the elder Holmes adds.

“Me too,” John says, taking it and rising from the mat. He gives Sherlock’s hand a shake, the releases it to pat him on the shoulder. “He’s my co-pilot,” John tells Mycroft.

Sherlock tries not to beam, looking at his brother.

“That’s not going to work,” Mycroft responds.

Sherlock tenses. John’s brow furrows. “Why not?”

“Because I said so, _Mr. Watson_ ,” he says, taking a step forward. “Report to the Shatterdome in two hours to find out who your new co-pilot will be.” He then turns and walks out of the room, nothing else to be said. 

Sherlock snatches up his discarded clothes from where he left them beside the mat and charges after his brother.

“Sherlock!” John calls after him, but’s he gone.

The crowd has already cleared out behind him, and he turns to find Jim, Sebastian, Irene, and Mary watching him. 

Mary gives him a small smile before turning to leave, and Sebastian follows. Irene turns to look at Jim, who continues to stare at John with some glint in his eye. John doesn’t like it. John doesn’t like him.

He turns to walk away, leaving the pair of them behind to go and find Sherlock.

\--

John finds Sherlock stomping out of Mycroft’s office, and calls out to him. He doesn’t seem to hear him.

He follows him back to the bunkers, where he jogs to catch up with him before he reaches his door. “Sherlock,” he says, stopping him with a hand to hold him back. “What was that back there?”

“My brother, pulling rank. God, I hate him,” Sherlock groans.

“Well, yes, I know that,” John says, dropping his hand. “But I meant us, back in the training room. You felt that, right?”

Sherlock straightens his back, takes a step away from John. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, we are clearly Drift-compatible.”

Sherlock swallows. “That much was obvious, yes. Unfortunately, it is not meant to be.” Sherlock tries to get around John, who just stops him again, hand on Sherlock’s chest.

“This is worth fighting for, Sherlock. You said you wanted to be a pilot, yeah?”

“Yes, but—”

“But what? That was fantastic, in there! Are you just going to let that go?”

“I don’t have a choice, alright?” he shouts. “As much as I hate it, my brother has the authority here. Just let it go, John.” Sherlock pushes past him and disappears into his room. 

John sighs, looking at Sherlock’s door and wondering what is getting the Holmeses all bent out of shape.

As he turns toward his own door, he hears something just beyond the heavy steel where Sherlock is hiding. It vaguely sounds like a violin.

John listens for a moment, and then closes his door to the noise.

\--  
\--  
\--

“Setting harnesses for Test Mode, waiting for second pilot,” he sighs into the intercom. 

Being back in the suit of armor required to pilot a Jaeger is both familiar and foreign at the same time. Part of it is the new design, but part of it is at the back of his mind, John can’t stop thinking about that last time he was in a Jaeger, his sister died. 

He shakes his head, tries to think of something else. His new co-pilot will have enough to worry about in the Drift, he doesn’t need to bring any extra baggage for the first run.

He hears the heavy footsteps of another person entering the Conn-Pod. “Hope you don’t mind me taking this side,” he says, turning, “my left arm is kind of…”

He sees Sherlock standing there, in full gear.

“That’s fine,” Sherlock says, grinning. “Any last words?”

“No point,” John says, “we’re about to be in each others’ heads.”

Sherlock nods, looking around the pod.

“You look good,” John adds, impulsively.

Sherlock smiles again. They turn to their harnesses.

\--

“Prepare for Neural Handshake,” Marshal Holmes says from the main deck.

Greg Lestrade launches into action. “Initiating Neural Handshake, sir,” he responds.

Mycroft sighs deeply, looking out on Atlas Zeta.

\--

“Remember, Sherlock, don’t chase the RABIT.”

“Random Access Brain Impulse Triggers. Memories, I know.”

“Just let ‘em flow, don’t latch on. This isn’t a simulator, anymore.”

“Tune them out, stay in the Drift, I know.”

“ _Neural Interface Drift initiated_ ,” the computer says.

As they fall under, John remembers what Harry used to tell him. 

\--

“ _The Drift is silence_.”

It is both exactly the same and entirely different, this Drift. John remembers all of the feelings, the rush of emotions with the memories and the physical rush of moving outside your own body. But the memories he was seeing in front of him, not all of them were familiar. His, Harry’s, and Sherlock’s. 

The solitude of childhood, a fascination with the Kaiju, the strained relations of family—all of this coming from Sherlock. 

\--

“AZ’s lining up nicely, sir,” Lestrade says. 

\--  
\--  
\--

John finally tracks Sherlock down in the lab with Dr. Hooper. 

He walks in to find the two of them looking over a one of the pieces of Kaiju he saw the day prior. 

“Sherlock,” John says, “Sherlock, we need to talk.”

“About what? What is there to say, John?”

“Look, I fell out of phase first, it was my fault.”

Sherlock doesn’t respond. John could tell he blamed himself, but some sort of foolish pride kept him from admitting it out loud.

Sherlock tosses the Kaiju bits he had been holding back down on the metal table, making Molly jump. He strips off his gloves and throws them haphazardly into a waste bin. And then he walks out of the lab. 

John follows, calling an apology back to Dr. Hooper.

He catches up with Sherlock just before their hallway, grabs him by the arm, and drags him into his room, pushing the door shut behind them. 

“What the hell, Sherlock!”

“John, what are you doing?”

“What am I doing?” John asks. “Why are you avoiding this, Sherlock? Why are you avoiding me?”

“I just don’t feel like talking about this, alright?”

John takes a deep breath. “I get that, Sherlock, I do. When it was me and Harry, I never wanted to do the talking. But I saw what went down in the Drift, you know I did, and we can’t ignore what happened.”

“Why not?” Sherlock bites back.

“Because we’re supposed to be co-pilots, goddammit, and I’m not going to let one incident keep us grounded. We can get past this.”

\--  
\--  
\--

“Can I see them?” Sherlock asks quietly.

“See what?”

“The scars.”

John pauses, he knows Sherlock’s seen them before, but after the Drift everything is different. Not new, but not quite familiar either. And so he nods, and then pulls off his shirt.

He lets it drop to the floor by his feet as Sherlock takes a step forward. He studies them for a moment before slowly reaching out to touch the tips of his fingers to the scar-tissued flesh, patterned to follow his old Jaeger armor.

“I saw it,” he whispers, tracing lightly. “I felt it when the Kaiju pierced the Jaeger. When the arm was ripped out.”

John breathes slow, in and out.

“And I felt when the Hull was breached, when Harry…” Sherlock’s voice catches. “…when she—”

Sherlock pulls back, crossing his arms and dropping to sit on John’s bunk. “I didn’t know it was possible to hurt so much,” he whispers. “To have a mind ripped away from you like that.”

John steps forward.

Sherlock keeps looking down. “I’m sorry, John. For everything. My brother can be a dickhead at times, but if we were that close and I lost him…especially like that…”

John lifted Sherlock’s chin with his left hand. “It’s not your fault,” John says. None of it.

And then John’s lips are on Sherlock’s. John’s hands are in Sherlock’s hair, Sherlock’s hands are around John’s waist, pulling him down with him on the bed.

And then there’s a knock at John’s door.

Regretfully, hesitantly, John pulls away from Sherlock and stands up, retrieving his shirt and pulling it on as he goes to the door. He looks out the peephole and sees Lestrade.

“Greg?” John asks, opening the door.

“John,” he says, then looks into the room. “Oh,” he says, “good. The Marshal wants to speak with the both of you in his office.”

“We’ll be there in a moment, thanks, Greg,” John says, dismissing Lestrade with an apologetic nod.

Greg raises his eyebrows and turns around.

John shuts the door again and is instantly pulling Sherlock up from the bed, mouthing at him more intently than before. “We will continue this later,” he says against Sherlock’s lips, his jaw, his ear.

“I hate my brother,” he growls, pulling John’s lips back to his for one more blistering kiss.

\--  
\--  
\--

Back in John’s bunker, Sherlock is sitting on the edge of his bed, just like the first time they kissed.

“So, I guess we saved the world,” John says, walking from the locked door over to Sherlock.

“You saved it, John,” Sherlock insists.

“Shut up,” John says playfully, pushing Sherlock back onto his elbows and straddling him. “We have something important to finish.”

“Do we?” Sherlock feigns innocence, “I don’t recall.”

“Oh, well, I’ll have to jog your memory,” John replies, undoing Sherlock’s belt.

There’s a knock at the door behind them.

“Bugger off!” John shouts, “This room is occupied!”

There's a loud guffaw from outside the door, which fades down the hall as it disappears.

“Oh, good, it was Lestrade again. If it was your brother I might have been forced to open the door and rub this in his face.”

“Let’s never do that,” Sherlock says desperately as John reaches into his pants, “And let’s stop talking.”

And that he does, his mouth suddenly occupied elsewhere.


End file.
